The River's Offering
The summer of 1953 in Mississippi was the kind of summer that makes you believe in God or stop believing in Him, with no middle ground. I sat on the porch of York Manor, the one my family had owned since before the Civil War and was now losing piece by piece to taxes and neglect and the slow rot that comes from having nothing left to pay for it. The cicadas were screaming. The air was so thick...
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